Awakening to the sun’s light
I listen with delight
to wooden wind chimes.
Their music delicate and sweet
has not disturbed my sleep.
Now heres the thing
you can not catch the wind.
It goes where it will
over dale and hill.
As a child it blew
through
our home
whistling in the chimney
as I sat alone
reading many a fable
at our oak table.
The gale inspired no fear
then
and when
I hear
it blowing near
today
I pray
it will blow all this away.
The wind howls
as the environment scowls
on ersatz man
who can
only cower
At nature’s power.
His tower
shiny and new
may see him through
But the old gods wait
And ‘tis getting late.
Thor raises his hammer
Drowning out the yammer
Of man who plays on the Titanic’s dek
an albatross about his neck.
Sometimes words die on lips
And cruelty strips
Away
The light of day.
Only the rain
And pain
remain.
The wall seemed so high.
Acorns fell as from the sky.
There they would lie
To be collected by you and I.
The acorn’s hard shell.
I remember it well.
The smell of the wood
Natural and good.
Now the wall is to high
And on the other side you lie.
Come visit the stage.
‘Tis all the rage
to see ecstasy without feeling.
Your senses will be reeling
as the lights on the ceiling
reveal her kneeling.
The club will be dark.
She will play her part
to perfection.
You need not fear rejection
for she will never tire.
and your desire
Is her pleasure.
Take your leisure
and find romance.
Come see the robot dance
Everything will fail.
On my new shower rail
is written
“made in Britain”.
Kipling is out of fashion
yet there remains a passion
for things made here.
Caesar’s ghost stands near.
The sneer
On Ozymandias’s face
Has been wiped from it’s place
Leaving only sand
And barren land.
Everything will fail.
On my new shower rail
is written
“made in Britain”.
—
Yesterday I purchased a new shower rail and was pleased to discover that it was made in Britain. This sparked the above poem.
I have dreamed poetry’s sound.
Something quite profound.
But when I awake
the muse does me forsake.
In the labyrinth of my brain
no doubt the words remain
But I have mislaid the golden thread
that ran through my sleeping head.
Sometimes I get them down
while the world sleeps all around.
But oft they float away
lost in the light of day.
Being blind
I sometimes find
myself wondering what women look like.
With little sight
it is impossible to tell
so why do I on this subject dwell?
I do perceive
that a voice may deceive.
Girlish tones
Can belong to old crones.
A scent draws me in
thoughts of skin
and sin.
“Would you like to touch my face?”
“This is not the place
my dear.
People are near.
Besides we have only just met.
I don’t even know your name yet”!
She lingers.
Thinking of sensitive fingers
Loss of sight
does not equal no delight …
Closing my curtain
I shut out the night
And the fireworks
Celebrating something
but precisely what
I am uncertain.
While beyond my drapes
The dark
patiently waits …
Don’t give me all this stuff about sacking Troy.
You have been shacked up with some girl or boy!
You spin me a line
About men turned into swine.
I am sick of hearing of Circe
And your struggle to be free
Of her.
I’m fed up with affair after affair!
As for that painted nymph
On a plinth
Calypso
No doubt she let you go
When she saw how you guzzle your food
In a manner most rude.
Or was she a prude
And was it your language so crude
That caused her to shout
And throw you out?!
Be off once more to the sea
I want to be free
Of thee!
—
Penelope – https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Penelope
Circe – http://www.greekmythology.com/Other_Gods/Circe/circe.html
Calypso – http://www.greekmyths-greekmythology.com/calypso-odysseus-greek-myth/
Odysseus – https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Odysseus
